The One Person Who Deserves It
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: Someone from the past finds Angel and Mimi at the Life Cafe, someone who obviously has a story that Angel factors in. Thing is, she thinks he's the only person worthy of actual hatred. What's he done to make her hate him like this? Strong language, beware
1. Attack

**A/N:** Welp, here is the beginning of what I hope can become one of my bigger mutli-chapter stories! It's a weird idea, and I know Angel might be OOC. Things will be explained. Just tell me what you think. Oh, and any spoken words written in italics are Spanish. I am tired of writing down translations and still using the wrong Spanish! Stupid Internet translators! (stabs them with ballpoint pens)

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If Angel hadn't happened to look over her right shoulder, everything might have been different. 

If she had looked over her left shoulder, she would have seen Roger and Mark losing a game of table football against two other friends. She would also have seen Maureen and Joanne making out on a table two feet to the right. She would never have seen the other half of Life Café.

But she looked over her right shoulder, and so things went that certain way. When Angel looked over her right shoulder, she saw Collins rolling his eyes at Mark and Roger, while a girl named Rosie laughed and pointed at them as Roger made a particularly feeble play. But what caught Angel's eye was Mimi. She was sitting at a table by herself; at least, she had been the last time Angel checked. But now she had some company. A man, dressed in a canvas trench coat and combat boots, was standing over her, leaning down and apparently speaking very fast. The disconcerting thing was that Mimi was looking up at him from her chair with a terrified expression on her face. Terrified and shocked.

Angel frowned and got off the bar stool she had been sitting on. The jeans she was wearing rubbed against the backs of her thighs, and she winced. She hadn't bothered to change out of her drumming clothes before meeting everyone at the Life. For a while, she'd been regretting it. But now it seemed like wearing guys' clothes might be a bit of advantage in dealing with Mimi's new guest. It was harder to convince a guy to back off when you were wearing a miniskirt.

Sometimes, that is.

As Angel approached, she heard a snatch of the man's words. Surprisingly, they were not English, but Spanish. Angel hadn't talked in Spanish with anyone but Mimi and a few other friends for a while, so it was a new twist to find that this stranger spoke it too. And somehow, it sent a shiver up her spine.

"_Sorry to interrupt, but is everything okay here?_" Angel asked in Spanish as she came upon Mimi and the man. Mimi's eyes snapped over to her, and Angel saw even more fear in them. But before she could understand why, the man turned to face her (before, his back had been the only thing in her line of vision).

"_Fuck off, we're talking,_" he replied. Angel stared at his face, which was, to say the least, distinctive. He had skin that was darker than hers, but lighter than Mimi's, and seemed to have too much flesh in his forehead and cheeks. His nose was flat and round, and he had a light black moustache. Two beady, dull black eyes glared at her from beneath a tremendously thick brow. Perhaps most noteworthy of all, a thick purplish scar ran the length of one temple. Angel found her eyes following its thick, knotted path, as though she were tracing it mentally. And though Angel could not quite grasp it, she found this man totally, utterly, and achingly…

Familiar.

"_What's your name? Why are you talking to her?_"Angel asked warily, her brain working furiously to remember this man. She knew him, knew him well, but…how? Mimi tugged urgently on her sleeve, but she ignored her. The man looked Angel up and down scornfully, one stubby eyebrow arching in annoyance.

"_I said fuck off. I'm talking with this little—_"

Then it hit her.

Hit her unimaginably hard.

"Cordero…Cordero Navar," she breathed. All of a sudden, she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. Angel's hands began to shake. Cordero frowned as he heard her speak his name…but then his face changed as he recognized her too. For a moment, it was surprised. Then it became disgustingly smug.

"_It's been a while, hasn't it, fag? Happy to see me? I know I'm thrilled to see you._" His voice was taunting and evil. Angel couldn't think. Her heart was banging away in her chest, and Mimi's terrified eyes were like two bright lights focused right on her. There was a split second where she stood there silently and decided what to do.

A second after that, she punched Cordero in the face.

As most of her friends knew, Angel was actually an extremely strong person. She was smaller and compact, but looks could be deceiving. So the force of that punch was enough to carry Cordero across a table and knock over three chairs before he skidded to a halt on the ground. But he didn't stay down for long. Almost as soon as he touched the floor, Cordero leapt to his feet and charged Angel, tearing at her with his hands.

The entire Life Café had whipped around as soon as Cordero's body knocked over the first chair, and by the time he got to his feet, everyone else had too. People screamed as the two men fought in the center of the restaurant, while others rushed forward to separate them. Collins and Roger, exhibiting excellent response time, got there first.

It wasn't easy to get ahold of either of them. They were fighting with serious intent to injure; this was not a low-level fight. Fists crashed against bone, fingernails scratched at skin, muscles strained to find more and more strength for destruction. Roger tried to catch Cordero's arm, but he had no sooner closed his fingers around the man's wrist when it twisted away and flew, following the hand attached, at Angel. Likewise, Angel would not be subdued, pushing Collins away roughly as she attacked Cordero again. Mimi hung onto Maureen's arm, staring at the two fighters with a sort of dazed horror. Joanne held Maureen back from rushing in herself, while Mark cleverly stood on a chair and tried as hard as he could to get a clear shot of Angel's opponent's face. Everyone else around them yelled and struggled to see what was going on, crowding in like excited fans at a movie premiere.

Finally, Collins managed to dive in and secure Angel, his large arms forcing her into a combination of a bear hug and a hammer lock. She twisted and thrashed in his arms, shouting furious streams of Spanish as she tried to escape his restraint. Roger made to hold Cordero back, but he threw the blonde man off easily. Cordero stood in the small arena that had been created by the surrounding people. His chest was heaving and he had a long red scratch on the side of his face. He was also bent awkwardly, as though Angel's blows had found their mark at least once. Still, he was smiling. And that alone was frightening.

"Keep your fucking hands off me," he instructed Roger, his English thick with a Spanish accent. Then Cordero turned to Angel, who had been forced to her knees by Collins. She was still struggling within his embrace, but he braced all of his strength against her and held fast.

"_Stop making a damn fuss, fag, I'm not gonna waste my time with you,_" Cordero sneered. Angel became still, her breathing heavy and her eye narrowed with hatred. She had a blooming black eye, and a single drop of blood from her split lip had trailed down her chin. It left a pale red mark, as though Angel had used a pen to draw it on. Though she had stopped moving, Collins held tight, aware of how easy it would be for him to take him by surprise and rush Cordero again.

"_I've got a message for you,_" Cordero said, speaking softly now. He walked slowly towards Angel, his stride limping. Angel noted it with angry pleasure.

"_I've got a message, but you've fucking pissed me off, so I'm gonna let it wait until I see you again. And believe me,_" he whispered, crouching so close to Angel that she could smell his alcohol-soaked breath. "_Believe me, I'll see you again._"

"_You bastard, I'll kill you if you ever look at me after this,_" Angel hissed under her breath, twisting slightly against Collins' arms. Mimi, near enough to hear what they were saying, drew in her breath sharply. All the bystanders were silent, either with confusion or with the understanding that something old, something deep and buried, was being violently uncovered.

Cordero laughed huskily, showing brownish teeth. "_Just try, fag, just try. You couldn't do it before and you can't do it now. You're pathetic, a weak little faggot with only a grudge to hide behind. You're nothing…got it?_" And with that, he spat in Angel's face.

"Hey!" Now Collins let go of Angel, moving past her to stand in front of Cordero. Cordero rose to his feet and smiled chillingly at Collins.

"_Tell him to back off, fag, or I might just use him as a reminder about why you hate me so much,_" Cordero said loudly. Collins glared at him, fists clenching. He didn't know what Cordero said, but considering that Angel had just tried to send the guy to hospital, there seemed to be little doubt that he was not a virtuous person.

On the ground, Angel was still on her knees. When Collins had released her, she's stayed completely immobile, her body frozen. Now, hearing, Cordero's words, she got to her feet, ignoring the pain from her recent wounds. With the back of one hand, Angel wiped Cordero's spittle off her face. Her eyes stared at the ground, not focusing on anything.

"_Tell him, fag…you know I mean what I say._" Now there was a threat in Cordero's voice. Around them, the crowd of people was painfully tense. No one made a sound. They were all watching the exchange in the middle of the floor.

"Listen, you better—"

"Collins, leave it." Collins spun to gape at Angel, who was still seemingly in shock. Slowly, she shook her head. He mouthed at her, eyes flickering from her to Cordero and back again.

"But…but Angel—"

"I said leave it, all right?" Her tone was brittle and sharp. Collins ground his teeth together and obeyed, retreating behind Angel while glaring at the smirking Cordero. Angel finally looked up, her brown eyes meeting his black ones. Cordero nodded smugly.

"_Smart move, fag. I'll be seeing you. And the little tramp over there as well,_" he said, jerking his thumb at Mimi. All eyes flew towards her and she half-shrank behind Maureen, who stepped protectively in front of her. Angel's gaze pierced his, her anger crackling dangerously.

"_Leave her out of this._"

"_She got herself involved by knowing you. Nothing I can do._" Cordero abruptly decided they were done, as he made evident by striding towards the door. People hurried out of his way, giving the impression that he was parting them like the sea. Just before he exited the restaurant, he turned and gave Angel a horrifying smile.

"_Remember…I'll be seeing you. Both of you._" And then he was gone into the street.

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EESH! Now please review! Press the pretty blue (I think it's blue, not purple, but who really cares?) and review, por favor!

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	2. Escape

**A/N: **Well, here's the second chapter! Couple quick notes: Angel gets a little freaky here (not that she wasn't before) but be prepared. Also, I'm sorry but I really can't use real Spanish. I do NOT want make a fool of myself or of Mimi and Angel just because I've spent the last ten or so years learing French (and then forgeting it) and not Spanish. So once again, all _italicized _quotes are spoken in Spanish.

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For a few moments after the door swung shut behind Cordero, there was silence in the Life Café. Chairs were still overturned on the ground; quite a few people were still crouching on the tables they had clambered on top of in order to better see the fight. Nobody moved, and a thousand pairs of eyes were focused on the young man in the middle of the room. 

Angel had her own eyes closed. Her fists were clenched and her chest was heaving with restrained emotion. The blood from her split lip had run a little more, and by now another cut was bleeding. A dark ring of a bruise had formed itself around her left eye. Angel's ribs couldn't have faired too well either, since she was bent awkwardly, like an old man. True, it looked bad; but somehow, you could tell she was feeling no pain. There was too much behind the fight's meaning for the minor injuries to bother her. In the unnatural stillness that lingered stiflingly around the room, everyone watched her. For the first time…they saw something different than the Angel they knew.

And then she broke the spell.

"_Mimi! Outside. Now_." Her tone was rigid and cold as cement. People started to breathe again, and many gazes jumped away from her self-consciously, as though they had been the only ones staring. Mimi, who was cowering behind Maureen, started and hurried to the door, her posture hunched as though she wanted to shrink down to nothing and disappear. Angel turned on her heel and followed her out of the restaurant, still slightly bent but in no other way favoring her injuries. The two of them vanished outside with all the substance of two wisps of smoke, the door hardly making a noise as it closed.

"Oh my fucking god…what just happened?" Maureen said slowly as she was roused from the collective trance. Roger just shook his head and rubbed one temple with his fingertips. Mark lowered his camera, which had stopped filming right before Cordero left. The group wordlessly clustered in a corner of the room, leaning in to form a secure huddle as others cast prying looks their way.

"Okay, can anyone explain that? At all?" Mark asked. Collins shook his head and gave a low whistle.

"I have honestly never seen Angel anything like that. I mean…Christ, I think she would've killed the guy if she could have."

"Who _was_ he?" Joanne wondered aloud, frowning. Roger opened his mouth, closed it again, and shrugged helplessly.

"God, who knows?" he said helplessly. Collins nodded, then winced and put a hand to his chest.

"Whoever he was, he got Angel mad enough to bruise one of my ribs when I held her back. Damn, this hurts…" Collins winced again and slowly lowered himself into a chair. Maureen put a hand on his shoulder, while Roger sighed and shook his head.

"The point is that Angel and Mimi knew him. They both did, I'm sure of it," he remarked, eliciting skeptical glances from the others.

"How can you know?" Mark asked. Roger sighed and shook his head.

"I just…do. I mean, did you see Mimi's face?"

"No."

"Well, I did."

-----------------------------------------

"_Angel, calm down, please,_" Mimi said tentatively as she followed Angel down the street. Angel ignored her, only picking up the pace for another block before finally slowing to a stop by an abandoned stoop. She sank onto it, her head in her hands. Mimi stood uncertainly by the bent metal handrail. She was only mildly surprised to find that, like Angel, her hands were shaking.

"_I can't believe it, I just can't…what the hell is he doing here? That asshole has to just—damn it, I can't deal with this, Mimi, I can't._" Angel's voice cracked and she stopped talking. Mimi slowly moved forward and knelt on the cold, rough pavement before Angel, her slim hands rubbing the tops of Angel's knees. She didn't know why she and Angel were still spekaing in Spanish, but it felt natural, so she left it alone. Angel gave a small, shaky cough, and Mimi rubbed harder.

"_I know, I understand. Just breathe, baby, you'll be okay…just breathe with me…_" Angel obeyed, her breathing becoming even and steady as Mimi soothed her. Still, Mimi could feel Angel trembling beneath her hands. The fury had departed, leaving a frightened, grief-stricken Angel in its absence. Mimi clenched her teeth and tried to leave the image of Cordero Navar far behind her, where it belonged. That bastard; he had ruined Angel's life once, and she had only just recovered. Now…again?

"_Did you hear what he said Collins stepped up? He said…he'd use Collins as a reminder why I hated him._"

"_I know, I heard him. I don't think that—_"

"_He meant it, Mimi. He's always meant it, just never followed through except for that once. Except for that once when it really mattered._"

"_Angel…_"

"_I want to kill him, Mimi. I want to wipe him off the face of earth so he never hurts anyone again. He's not going to get another chance to hurt the people I love. I'll get to him before he gets to them._" Angel's voice was no longer weak. It was full and strong…and angry. Mimi felt a chill go down her back as Angel looked up and ruefully tried to wipe the dried blood off her chin. A bitter wind blew past them, but neither noticed.

"_Don't do this, baby. Don't let him drag you back into what happened before. Cordero's shit, he's not worth it_," Mimi said softly, squeezing Angel's knees. Angel shook her head stonily and stood up so fast that Mimi was nearly clocked in the head by her shins.

"_All my life, I've forgiven people. I've forgiven so much, Mimi, but forgiving something and someone like this is beyond even me. I'm going to make him pay, no matter how clichéd that sounds. I hate him, I'm going to…to…I'm going to kill him._" Mimi slowly rose to her feet, eyes searchingly peering into Angel's. Angel stared back, cold rock meeting Mimi's gaze. Mimi drew in her breath sharply. Angel was serious. Completely and totally. And for the first time, Mimi honestly wondered if Angel had gone insane.

"_No…Angel, you can't do this. You don't even know why he's here—_"

"_He said he had a message for me. But there is one thing I really don't know; what was he saying to you?_" Mimi stiffened at this question. Angel caught this tension and took a step towards Mimi, forcing her to back up across the sidewalk. There was a terrible feeling of fright between them: Mimi's fright of Angel's actions and Angel's fright of…something else, something bigger. This wasn't her, the real Angel; something else was at work here. The Angel who Mimi loved would never act like this, and they both knew it. Yet at this moment, Mimi found herself more afraid of Angel than she had ever been in her life.

"_It was nothing. He…he was insulting me, calling me stuff. I don't even know if he recognized me, and you could tell he was drunk, right?_" Angel shook her head. Now the bruise around her eye was really blooming, deep purple and painful-looking. There were other bruises coming in, and still those scratches. Angel was not only acting scary, but she was looking it.

"_No, he wasn't that drunk. Mimi, don't lie to me about this. What did he say to you?_" Angel asked softly. Mimi cowered for a moment or two…then she just gave up.

"_Cordero knew me. From home. He knew…he knew we left together to go to New York, and he was threatening me…telling me that I'd wake up with a knife too close for comfort. He told me that he knew you were around somewhere, and if I didn't say, he'd—catch me alone and make me tell him. I guess…I guess he didn't see you._" Mimi ended her sentence quietly, so quietly that Angel could hardly hear the words. The sounds of New York swallowed them up.

All of a sudden, Angel was different. Her breathing quickened and her body seemed to release a kind of energy that hissed in the air as it left. But what really happened was that the stone melted away from her eyes. It was replaced with a grief so strong that Mimi knew to put her arms around Angel half a second before Angel fell into them.

"_Oh, God…Mimi, what can I do? I just don't…what the hell can I do?_" Angel whispered, pushing her face into Mimi's curly brown hair. Mimi just made low noises in her throat and held as tight as she could to Angel. She could feel her friend shaking in her arms.

And maybe, though she chose to ignore it, she could feel Angel's anger and hatred as it pulsed and crouched within her; dormant for the moment but most definitely awake.

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Oh, crapadoodles. 


	3. Remembrance

**A/N: **Okay, so this chapter is pretty damn long. It's mostly Angel's falshback of sorts, and the flashback itself is a setup for explaing Cordero and Angel's past. Those of you who like clues might want to look around in it for hints. All Spanish names, descriptions, and words are from Babel Fish, so PLEASE forgive me for any innaccuracy. I am ashamed. And for those you who find thw switching between past and present tense confusing, sorry! I'm just following the muse (god, that sounds stupid).

* * *

Mimi felt the eyes on her as soon as she stepped inside. If she had blatantly looked around the Life Café, she wouldn't have been able to catch a single person staring. But the eyes were all watching here, whether she could catch them at it or not. She had expected it to be this way, and yet it still made her feel awkward. Those eyes seemed somehow accusing, as though they were trying to make her break down and confess some terrible crime.

Mimi made her way over to where everyone else was sitting; at a table in the corner, away from the middle of the room. No one spoke as she sat down in one of the two available chairs and crossed her arms, leaning back wearily. They were just like everyone else in the room; only with them, Mimi could openly see their gazes fall on her. And unlike the rest of the room, their gazes were less accusatory and gentler.

"Angel went home to calm down," Mimi said after a moment or two of silence. "She said to tell you that she's probably going to be asleep, Collins, so you don't have to worry about her being alone or anything."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks," he replied. For another few seconds, no one made a sound. Then Maureen (you knew it was going to be her, didn't you?) broke the silence.

"Would it be too much to ask for you to tell us what the hell that was about?" she said, laying her cards on the table (figuratively). Mimi ducked her head, staring at her lap. Roger reached over and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. She reached up and grasped his hand, lacing her fingers with his.

"You can't blame us for wanting to know," Joanne added. Mimi looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Joanne, I would blame you more for not wanting to know. Angel practically tried to kill the guy; it's not exactly in character for her." Mimi released Roger's hand and shook a few loose curls away from her face. As they watched her, it was striking just how tired she looked. Collins glanced over at Mark, who shrugged and looked away. What could even looks say about something like this?

"So…care to answer the question?" Maureen badgered. Joanne whacked her on the arm, but Mimi shook her head and sighed.

"I can't. Trust me…it's better that you don't know. It really—oh my god, sorry." Mimi pressed her hands to her mouth and bent her head so low that her curls fell like a curtain, completely obscuring her face. Her sentence had been interrupted by a sudden and out-of-place sob; small, like a hiccup, but obviously the key that unlocked the floodgates. Now her shoulders began to shake and her throat rasped as Mimi struggled to keep back the emotional avalanche. Roger reached out and this time put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. But Mimi pulled away almost immediately, leaping up and gasping, "I'll see you later," before fleeing out the back door. They all watched her go, mouths open.

"I…I didn't mean to do anything that would…um…was that my fault?" Maureen stuttered, her brow knitting with concern. Mark shook his head.

"I doubt it. If Angel's upset, so is Mimi. Just give them time, I guess…"

"I'm going to go see if she's okay," Roger said suddenly, getting to his feet and heading towards the door that Mimi had departed through. Collins hesitated for a moment, then nodded and stood up as well.

"I'll go check on Angel…see if she's doing all right. You know they're both really upset right now, though," he said, eyeing Maureen and Joanne in particular. "So for Mimi and Angel's sake, _please_ do not snipe at each other in front of them, okay?"

"Collins, we're not idiots," Joanne said, rolling her eyes. Collins raised an eyebrow.

"That has yet to be proved." And he was gone.

* * *

Angel settled back on the couch and sighed. She had put some ice in a plastic bag and now it was pressed against her black eye, numbing the throbbing ache in the bruised skin. She'd cleaned off the scratches, wiping the dried blood away and leaving the thin red lines to fade on her face. The mirror had revealed three or four bruises on her chest, but she ignored those. And to top it off, her head was pounding. Angel felt terrible and justified to be.

But although her body was hurting, Angel's mind would not sit still. It jumped from memory to the present to fury and then back to memory again. Whenever she closed her eyes, Cordero's face floated across the insides of her eyelids. It repulsed her, like a dead body might. To her, Cordero meant as much.

Angel bit her tongue and drew her knees up, shifting the ice pack on her face. Mimi's words flashed through her mind. "_He was threatening me…telling me that I'd wake up with a knife too close for comfort…"_ They sent a cold shiver up Angel's spine, and she tried to block them. But somehow they kept repeating in her mind, circling like vultures over prey.

_Telling me that I'd wake up with a knife too close for comfort…_

_With a knife too close for comfort…_

_Too close for comfort…_

_----------------- _

"_That was too close for comfort, Angel," scolds Mama as she winds a bandage around the cut on Angel's arm. He rolls his eyes and shrugs._

"_Honestly, Mama, it wasn't so bad as you think. I can handle those pendejos any day," he says. Theresa giggles and crawls into Angel's lap, her little six-year-old body still clumsy and uncertain._

"_Angel, do not use such language around Theresa! She'll pick it up and then it'll be like living in a bar around here!" Mama says, tying the bandage tight. Angel and Theresa both laugh, and Theresa tangles her hands in Angel's jacket._

"_Juan says that you need to stop being friends with Mimi, 'cause then those boys won't beat you up. Are you going to stop being friends with Mimi, Angel?" Theresa asks, her eyes wide. Angel smiles and bounces his little sister gently in his lap._

"_Of course not. Juan is estúpido, don't listen to him. And they do not beat me up; they try to, but I always win in the end." Mama shakes her head and stands up as Angel and Theresa giggle together. The tiny house is mostly empty for the moment; their three other brothers are out with their girlfriends or their friends, while the twins, Maria and Elisa, are at swimming practice. Theresa, the youngest of the siblings by far and adored by all, has been home from school all day with a cold, and now she sneezes softly, rather like a puppy or a kitten. Angel rubs her forehead and kisses her ear._

"_Still feeling sick, nena?"_

"_Uh huh."_

"_Well, c'mon. Let's see if we can find something good to eat that'll make you forget all about that cold." Angel stands and Theresa slides off her lap, their hands clasping each other tightly. But before they get to the kitchen, Miguel bursts in through the door, a basketball tucked under one arm._

"_Hey! How's my favorite sister named Theresa?" he asks, dropping the ball and snatching Theresa up from the ground. She shrieks with laughter as her oldest brother twirls her in the air, his height of six foot two making for an even better ride. Angel watches them, smiling._

"_Okay, down you go," Miguel says finally, dropping Theresa to the ground. She makes a dash for the kitchen, evidently to find either that snack or her mother. Angel rolls his eyes and picks up Miguel's basketball, casually throwing it from one hand to the other. Miguel eyes him coolly, arms crossed._

"_So…I guess I was wrong about basketball season being over for a week and a half, because you've obviously been at practice all afternoon," he says, obviously referring to the nonexistent sweat stains on Miguel's clothes. Miguel's lip curls and he grabs the ball back._

"_I was with Lana, not that it's your business. And also not your business, but I just got the ball back from Alex; he forgot to give it back during the season. Stop acting like I'm a goddamn gang member." Miguel heads for the stairs to his bedroom on the second floor, but Angel steps in his way. Before Miguel can stop him, his hand snaps into his brother's pocket and out again, this time holding a tightly rolled wad of bills. Miguel stares at the money in Angel's hand for a moment, then snatches it back, stuffing it into his back pocket this time._

"_Mama's going to find out, you know. She can smell crack a mile away," Angel reminds him. Miguel shakes his head and grabs Angel by the shoulder, pulling him up the stairs and into the narrow second floor hallway. Downstairs, they can hear Theresa and Mama laughing as they play with soapy dishwater. The sun streams in through a small window, turning the pale yellow walls into glowing gold._

"_Okay, now listen. I was holding this for Alex, all right? That's all it is," Miguel hisses, pushing Angel up against his bedroom door. Angel raises an eyebrow._

"_You don't hold that much for friends. Miguel, I'm not going to tell Mama or anything, but you better cut out the dealing before either she or someone at school finds out. Someone from the wrong gang hears that you're 'holding stuff for friends' and they get pretty damn mad. Mama would kill herself if something happened to any of us, especially you," Angel says, his voice quiet._

_Miguel sighs and leans against the door beside Angel, staring at the ceiling. The boy is in his senior year in high school, yet he looks like he should be celebrating his thirtieth birthday. The whole family—his mother and all six of his siblings—see him as a father figure, ever since Papa cut out five years ago. His girlfriend couldn't live with him, and he was the starring point guard for the school's basketball team during the season. He has good grades at school and the teachers like him. Angel knows all of this, which is one of the reasons he's always looked up to Miguel. It's also one of the reasons that he told Miguel first. The whole family knows now, but Miguel was the first one to know about the way Angel is…the way he feels about boys. The two of them, as the oldest siblings, are close; and now Angel feels the responsibility of keeping his brother from the wrong path._

"_Will you let it go if I tell you why I'm doing it?" Miguel asks softly. Angel turns and nods at his big brother. Miguel sighs again and crosses his arms._

"_I've asked Lana to marry me as soon as we graduate," he says, his voice low. "She said yes."_

"_Really? Miguel, that's great! Congratulations," Angel says, grinning and lightly slapping his brother on the arm. Miguel smiles faintly and glances over at Angel._

"_Thanks…but the thing is, her parents don't want her to get married until after college. She says that she doesn't give a damn what they think, but if she cuts out from them they'll stop giving her money for college, and the deadline for financial aid's passed. So I'm trying to make money any way I can…if it means that we can get married and Lana can still go to college."_

"_But what about your job?" Angel asks, referring to Miguel's day job as a mechanic. Miguel rolls his eyes._

"_They pay slave wages; it would take me years to get enough. This way…I'm making a hell of a lot more, and faster. Don't worry about me, seriously. I'm not going to get caught or hooked or anything. I know what matters most." Miguel sounds sure of himself, and Angel has to believe that he is. Sighing, he gives his big brother a small squeeze on the shoulder._

"_Okay. But promise me that you'll look for another way to make money that's not this illegal or dangerous. You're worth too much to everyone to get busted for dealing." Miguel smiles and nods._

"_I promise. Now go away, because I need to call Lana." He turns and heads into his room, giving Angel one last smile before he closes the door. Angel smiles back, but his heart cringes. Something feels wrong…too wrong._

"_Angel? Come down and help us with the dishes," Mama's voice calls up from below. "Angel, come on down. Angel? Angel?"_

_-------------------------------- _

"Angel? Baby, you in here?" Collins's voice snapped through Angel's memory trance, shaking her awake. She blinked and sat up slowly, the ice pack sliding off her face and into her lap.

"Collins? Is…that you?" she said uncertainly, her brain still fuzzy. Collins appeared in the doorway, his coat still on. When he saw her, he immediately went in and sat down at the end of the couch by her feet. Angel sighed and lay back down, replacing the ice pack on her face and closing her eyes. She felt Collins take hold of her ankle and squeeze it gently, reassuringly, lovingly. It made her want to sit up and hug him with all she had, but she didn't. Something inside wouldn't let her.

"Are you feeling okay, baby?" he asked softly, still holding her ankle. Angel didn't know what to say. The easiest thing to do was to just stay silent and hope he wouldn't ask, so she did. But he didn't follow up on his part.

"Angel? I know you can hear me. Are you doing all right?" This time, Angel couldn't ignore him. Moving slowly to avoid putting pressure on her ribs, she rose into a sitting position, her ankle still in Collins's grasp. Her face felt stony and hard, like a mask. She didn't like that feeling. It made her feel…dead. So to crack her face open, she answered.

"No. No, I'm not."

* * *

Holey moley fernoley canolli. 


	4. Explanation

**A/N: **I know I haven't updated in ages! Sorry! Here ya go, and a few more oneshots and chapters will folow soon. But I'm busy as hell, so I'll do my best.

* * *

"It was my oldest brother, Miguel. And my younger sister…but she wasn't supposed to be there," Angel told him, her voice low and dull. She was curled up on the couch, the ice pack laid to the side and one leg hugged against her chest. Collins had the foot of the other leg in his lap, his hand resting gently on her ankle. It was a touch gentle enough to give her comfort, but vague enough to keep from encroaching on her chosen isolation.

"He never meant for it to go on that long. He was only dealing to make money for his girlfriend. Her parents wouldn't pay for college if she married him…and he loved her enough to do whatever it took to get her into school. But he didn't think…he couldn't have…" Angel had to pause and control her voice before she could say another word. Collins, understanding that the best thing he could right now was to be silent, pressed his thumb against her Achilles tendon and waited for her to continue.

"Theresa was at a friend's house, and I was at Mimi's, so I couldn't go get her. Miguel offered to pick her up…her friend's house was near Lana's—I mean, his girlfriend's. So he went to get her and they were walking home and…it just happened," Angel whispered, her eyes beginning to water. Collins felt a chill go up his back as he began to realize what she might mean.

"It was a gang from our school…Cordero was the guy in charge. They had most of the drugs that were going around…Miguel must have seemed like some kind of threat, but he wasn't, he was only doing it because he—he had to, and I don't—" She had to stop then; her voice was too hoarse to go on. Collins squeezed her ankle to let her know that it was all right if she wanted to cry, but whether or not she wanted to, Angel kept from weeping. The emotion inside her was potent and painful, but she had cried over it for too many years. Her tears were buried deep inside.

"They jumped him…and Theresa…when they were walking home. Miguel never had a chance…because he saw the knives. But Theresa…they could have let her go. They didn't have to do that to a little girl…what they did…you have no idea," Angel whispered, making eye contact with Collins for the first time since she had started talking. He held her eyes, aware that looking away might hurt more than the memories themselves.

"We didn't know where they were until a few hours later…and then a woman from the Laundromat down the street called. She found them…in an alley…like garbage or something. And on their foreheads…gang symbols…cut into the skin. The police didn't know or didn't care…but I did. I knew who took my brother and sister away from my family." Angel took a deep breath. Her body was tensing against the pain, but she had to will herself to stand strong. Focus on Collins, she told herself. They were then and he is now, so just focus on him…

"I picked a fight. In school…between classes in the hallway. Mimi still blames herself for not stopping me, but I wouldn't have listened anyway. Cordero…he laughed at me when I told him that I knew it was him. He laughed at me and spit in my face and told me that they should have known better…like it was their fault that we were grieving and Lana wanted to commit suicide because she lost Miguel. I couldn't stand it…so I tried to jump him, like earlier…but his gang nearly sent me to the hospital before I could do anything to him. I got suspended and Cordero made it clear that I'd suffer more if I tried to fight back anymore. I knew he could follow through…so I let it go. But I never expected…that he'd end up in New York. I never though he'd be here…so when I saw him in the Life, something just snapped. I wouldn't have done that if it was anyone else, but Cordero deserves it. He's a bastard and I'm not backing down this time," Angel finished.

Her heart was beating painfully in her chest, and she felt almost winded. Collins was looking at her like he wasn't quite sure she was real; maybe a dream or a hallucination, but not flesh and blood. Something had to break the silence between them, but she couldn't find the strength to do it. That was up to him.

"What did he say?"

"Huh?" Her eyes flickered towards him. He was frowning slightly now, but the vague look was gone from his eyes. His grip on her ankle was warm and firm.

"In the Life Café. He spit at you and I got in his face, but he said something in Spanish and you told me to back off. What'd he say?" Collins asked, eyes searching hers. Angel felt her breath catch in the back of her throat.

"Why…why do you need to know?"

"Because I want to understand if he's still the same as he was when you went to school with him."

Angel stared at him for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and closed her eyes.

"He told me he'd use you as a reminder…of why I hated him," she whispered. Collins said nothing, but he moved his hand up her leg a little.

'He threatened Mimi too. She told me. Collins…" Now Angel opened her eyes and looked at him. He was not projecting shame or anger at her; only love and empathy. If she couldn't tell him this, she couldn't tell anyone.

"Collins, I'm not letting him at anyone else I love. I'm not going to take that chance. He said he had a message for me. I'm going to let him deliver it, and then I'll make sure he never has another chance to hurt anyone. I don't care what anyone says, I—I have to."

"I understand," he said softly. Her head, which had slowly become bowed, jerked up to stare at him. Had she heard correctly?

"Angel, I get that Cordero is a problem that needs to be taken care of. He deserves the worst. But baby…" Collins leaned forward, his hand moving from her ankle to softly rub her forearm.

"Don't let him turn you into a person you're not. You aren't someone who hates; you know people don't live long enough to justify hate. He shouldn't be able to undo everything you believe just because he's evil. Angel…I love you. You under stand love…don't try to understand hate," he said quietly. Leaning forward a little more, Collins kissed her gently on the lips.

Angel tried to kiss him back, but she was shaking too hard. After a moment or two, she pulled away and rested her forehead against his. He reached around and laid a hand against the back of her neck. Angel felt Collins's fingers pressing into the nape of her neck and his breath on her face…

And only then did those buried tears force their way to the surface.


	5. Resolution

**A/N: **Yay, I finally updated! This story is a toughie because everytime I try to write another chapter, I think of a better one. This is the one that won, and I hope you guys like it.

* * *

She'd seen red.

Not pure red, like if someone had pushed a piece of red construction paper in front of her face. But a reddish haze that clogged the air around her and made it all sour and choking. And his face peered through, smirking and evil, laughing at all the memories of the pain and grief and suffering…laughing at her, at how easily hurt she was. And Angel had felt the hatred, pulsing like a new heart, a dark heart, a heart that wanted to see that laughing face crumple as all the pain from before hit him in the chest.

So she'd gone at him.

It seemed surreal now, hours later; that pulsing hate and fury in her. More like a faded thought or an idea than a true emotion. But Angel couldn't fool herself into believing that the hate hadn't been there. It had been there then and it was there now, sitting like a rock in her stomach. She couldn't understand it or explain it, but it was still there. It made her feel nauseous; in fact, about ten minutes after telling Collins about what happened, Angel found herself on the bathroom floor, throwing up into the toilet. She'd locked the door, but Collins didn't come in. She suspected that he knew she wanted to be alone.

When the last heaves had subsided and she'd taken a drink of water, Angel sat back against the wall and closed her eyes. The cold of the floor seeped through her clothes into the bottoms of her thighs and the soles of her feet, but she was past caring. Her black eye throbbed with a dull ache. Angel ran one finger over the bruised skin and winced at the small flare of pain. It was just pain, though; nothing more, nothing scarring. Nothing like what he'd done.

And then the hate began to yawn and wake in her stomach.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mimi? You awake?"

The whisper woke Mimi, who had always been a light sleeper. She blinked and sat up in bed, her brown curls falling messily over her face. Beside her, Roger slept soundly, streetlight casting shadows across his bare chest and arms.

"Hmm?" Mimi mumbled sleepily, glancing around. Her eyes went past the window once, and then traveled back as she registered the form sitting on the sill. Angel, dressed in the same clothes from earlier that day, was crouched like a cat on the windowsill, her eyes glinting in the same light that illuminated Roger. Mimi shook back her hair, yawned, and realized she wasn't wearing a top and the sheets on the bed had fallen down to her waist. With a squeak of embarrassment, she quickly pulled them up to her shoulders. Low laughter came from Angel, who leaned back on her heels and shook her head. Mimi glared at her friend, still protectively gripping the sheets.

"Jesus, Angel, give a girl a little warning, will you?"

"Sorry," Angel replied. Then she jerked her head towards the fire escape outside. "Get dressed and c'mon out; I need to talk."

Mimi nodded. She'd known this was coming. What she and Angel had said outside after the fight was affected by the moment; she was still scared and Angel was still angry. Maybe the fundamentals hadn't changed by now, but they were both calmer. If anything, Angel was thinking clearly enough to listen to Mimi's words.

"All right…but go outside first. I'm not giving you anymore of a show," Mimi said. Angel nodded and swung out the open window, landing with a clang on the fire escape. Mimi winced and glanced at Roger, but he hadn't moved an inch. Thank god for heavy sleepers as boyfriends, Mimi thought. She dropped the sheets and got out of bed, quickly pulling on a baggy long-sleeved shirt and a pair of leggings. The shirt fell down to her knees and the sleeves swallowed up her hands; when she went out the window and on the fire escape, she was glad of the extra material. The night air was chilly, and a sharp wind was blowing. Mimi wrapped herself up on the shirt and huddled on the metal grate, toes curling against the cold. Angel perched on the railing, hanging onto the frame of the steps to the loft upstairs. Her face was stony, pale and washed out by the streetlamps.

"So…how're you feeling?" Mimi asked carefully, aware that she was still treading on unstable ground. Misty breath curled out of Angel's nostrils, but she didn't answer for a moment or two. When she finally spoke, she didn't answer at all.

"I'm sorry about sending you back there alone. What happened?" she asked. Mimi sighed and brushed her hair over her ears.

"Everyone asked me stuff, but I didn't bother answering. It's your business, and I'm not the person to spread it around," Mimi told her, looking for some sign that Angel was grateful or pleased; but Angel only looked back. Mimi went on slowly, unsure of what she was supposed to say.

"I left after a little and Roger went after me…I guess he knew I wasn't all right. We just went home and…well…he was great, actually. He didn't make me say anything I didn't want to say. And I didn't say anything, Angel. You know I wouldn't do something like that." She paused, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. Angel remained silent.

"So that's all. Roger doesn't know what the deal was and neither does anyone else. Unless you…with Collins…did you?" Mimi asked, her eyes widening. They got even bigger when Angel nodded very slowly. Mimi mouthed wordlessly, her surprise keeping her from speaking. Angel shivered, then slid off the railing, settling on the fire escape floor opposite Mimi. As she moved out of the light, Mimi saw how the shadows so easily fell across her features. And she knew.

Angel was not herself now any more than she had been after the fight. Mimi felt suddenly afraid, as though she was a character in a horror movie. Angel had only ever been like this once, and it had been because of Cordero then too. She was unpredictable and dangerous, and there was no reasoning with her in this state. Mimi wanted to go back inside, out of the cold and away from this frightening person. But it was too late to run away from Angel now, and Mimi knew deep inside that if anyone could stop Angel from doing something she'd regret, it was her. Maybe nothing could be done at all, but if Angel got hurt, Mimi would blame herself.

"He knows about it, all of it. But he shouldn't, no one should, no one but me. No one but me should get to hate Cordero," Angel whispered, her voice throaty and hoarse. Mimi's body stiffened and she shrank away from Angel.

"I'm going to find him, wherever he is. And he can say anything he wants, give me whatever message he has, but he's not getting away this time. I want to see him feel what I felt, and I want to see it up close. I want to cause it," Angel went on, her fists clenching. Mimi stared at Angel, her breath rising in white curlicues from her mouth. Through it, Angel appeared to be some sort of ghost, a dark version of someone Mimi loved and knew. It made her tremble, to feel the anger radiating from the young man in front of her.

"Angel…don't," she heard herself say, so low that at first she didn't know whether Angel had even heard it at all. But then she saw her friend's eyes flash.

"What?" Angel said, practically spitting out the word. Chills shot up Mimi's back, and they weren't from the cold.

"Don't…scare me like this. Please," Mimi whispered, trying to look away from those terrifying eyes. It was such a strange experience to be frightened of Angel, such a surreal feeling to gaze at this hard person and feel fear. Mimi wanted it to stop; she wanted her own Angel back.

_Cordero Navar, damn you to hell for doing this to her_.

"So I'm scaring you? I'm making you afraid?" Angel asked coldly. She got to her feet, her body blocking the streetlight. Mimi cowered in Angel's shadow, her hands gripping the metal of the fire escape like a drowning swimmer clinging to a failing life preserver.

"Yes, Angel. I'm scared," she replied, her voice shaking. Angel stood still for a moment, silhouetted by the streetlamp. Then her fist rose and Mimi's eyes snapped shut…

And she felt the fire escape shake as Angel brought her fist down on the railing.

"Oh my god," Mimi murmured, turning her face away. She heard Angel say something softly and then the fire escape rattled as Angel vaulted down the stairs. Moments later, when Mimi opened her eyes, she was alone. Angel was gone.

And though Mimi couldn't be sure, she thought that Angel's words had been, "So am I."


	6. Lull

**A/N:** Aaaaah, it feels good to update this! I'm really starting to like it again, another chappie should be coming up soon. And just to let you all, because I was spazzing about it all night...I SEE ADAM AND ANTHONY IN THREE DAYS! SQUEEEEEEEEE!

(breathe in, breathe out) I'm okay. I am OKAY.

Except not (squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!)

* * *

When Collins woke, he was covered in cold sweat. He'd been stuck in a nightmare where dark figures with broken noses came at Angel out of the shadows, who shouted at them and fought in vain as they dragged her back down with them. It wasn't a particularly pleasant dream, and it didn't help to quiet his racing heart when, at first glance, Angel did not prove to be in bed beside him. In fact, she wasn't in the room at all. 

Untangling his limbs from the sheets and getting to his feet, Collins tried to remember what she had been doing when he last saw her. She told him all that about Cordero, and then…she'd gone to throw up in the bathroom. Collins remembered feeling helpless, unable to ease her pain and anger. He'd lain down on the bed to wait for her to finish…fuck, he must have fallen asleep. Swearing at himself, Collins quickly left the room to look for her.

He found her soon enough, curled up beside the barred windows that opened onto the fire escape. She was wearing a jacket, jeans, and sneakers, her legs hugged against her chest and her cheek stuck to the window as her head slumped against it. Smiling with simple relief that she wasn't somewhere in one of New York City's back alleys, searching for Cordero, Collins knelt beside her and touched her shoulder.

"Huh…wazzit…" she mumbled, shrinking away from his touch. Collins shook her a little harder to wake her up more thoroughly. She whimpered. He gave her the hardest shake yet—

And her fist flew out, quick as a snake striking, crunching into his nose and upper lip with a noise like meat being smacked with a tenderizing mallet. Collins yelled and fell back onto his behind, eyes watering with pain. Angel had jerked awake and was looking blearily around, obviously wondering who she'd hit. Then her eyes focused on Collins and grew in horror.

"Oh! Honey, I am so goddamn sorry, I had no idea—Jesus, are you okay?" she babbled, uncurling and moving over to crouch beside him. Collins, who was holding both hands to his rapidly swelling lip and aching nose, could not speak quite yet. He nodded, tensing as the pain pulsed through his face. Angel, disbelieving and gentle as could be, peeled his hands away and winced when she saw what she'd done.

"Oh god…I am such a fucking idiot, I was dreaming and I thought you were—you know…here, I'll see if there's any ice," she said, getting up and running to the kitchen. Collins clapped his hands back to his face and slowly got up, blinking away the tears of pain. Dimly, he felt grateful that Angel was not one of those people who sleepwalked. She probably would have beat the crap out of him without waking up if she were, and that punch was enough to prove to him that he _never_ wanted to piss Angel off again if he could help it.

"Here, sweetie," Angel said, coming back into the room and pressing a thin dish towel wrapped around ice cubes into his hand. Collins carefully touched it to his puffy nose and lip and winced, trying and failing to suppress a squeal of discomfort. After a moment, though, the stinging of the ice disappeared and it began to numb the soreness in both features. Feeling like a clumsy idiot (even though it wasn't exactly his fault that he looked like someone had piled purple molding clay onto his lip and nose), Collins managed to remember his alarm and worry from earlier.

"Ang, about last night," he began, but that was as far as he got. His lip was so swollen it was making him talk with a lisp, and due to his nose his voice was incredibly nasal. Also, it hurt like all hell to speak. Angel raised her eyebrows and tenderly adjusted the makeshift ice pack.

"No talkie, you," she said firmly as he opened his mouth again. "You're going to have to wait until the swelling goes down. Oh, I am so fucking sorry, I can't _believe_ I did that…"

"S'okay," he squeaked, wincing. Angel smiled and kissed him on the cheek, careful to avoid all potential sore places on his face.

"You're too nice to me. Would you be this sweet if Mark or Roger punched you in the face?" she asked playfully. Collins rolled his eyes. She nodded.

"I thought so. Here, I'll go get a baggie so it won't melt." She turned and left the room again, her sneakers tapping softly on the hard kitchen floor. Collins realized, as he held the ice to his face, that Angel's own injuries—her black eye from the day before—had not yet faded. But she was acting as though it didn't exist, as though yesterday didn't exist. _Now I'm the one with ice on my face,_ he thought ruefully. There was irony in there somewhere, but he couldn't quite see it.

Angel acted perfectly fine all day: painstakingly finishing the last stitches on a ripped skirt and declaring loudly in delight when she was done; lying with her head on his shoulder as they both read (him from _Animal Farm_, her from a trashy tabloid that she loved to make fun of); checking every few minutes to see whether the swelling on his face had changed. She was normal Angel, perfectly fine in both appearance and manner. Collins would have been completely reassured of her sense and happiness if not for two things: a) very occasionally he would catch her staring into space, whatever task she was in the middle of momentarily forgotten as her mind wandered to stranger and darker things; and b) he probably knew her better than anyone on Earth, and in a way that was undetectable to any but those who knew her best, she fairly radiated a sort of brooding unrest. There was just something about her that spoke of an animal who was incensed but stationary, either biding its time or nursing its wounds.

He finally spoke to her about it that night, when she was sitting on the couch with her bare feet in his lap, her eyes scanning the pages of the same tabloid from earlier (Angel liked to sample these things bit by bit, so as to fully grasp the total idiocy of them). Collins was absently massaging his upper lip: the swelling had greatly decreased, leaving his lip only slightly sore and minimally puffed up. His nose, too, had mostly returned to normal, though he had to be careful when moving any facial muscles that corresponded with his nasal ones; the resulting pain was he forgot was not a gentle reminder.

"By the way, Ang, I want you to know my face won't sustain any lasting damage," he said lightly, still running his fingers over the tender skin. Angel smiled and looked up at him.

"So in other words, you'll still be that gorgeous," she said with a small laugh. Collins grinned at her, managing not to wince again.

"I'd figure you'd be thrilled to know it, seeing as you have to look at this face so often. I mean, think how you'd suffer if you broke my nose or something. It might make kissing me painfully awkward," he joked back. Angel giggled and turned a page.

"Well, it'd be my own fault. After all, I clobbered you in the first place—and before you say a word, I wanna apologize again. I didn't mean to, you know I didn't, but still…" she said guiltily. Collins rubbed her ankle and heel soothingly.

"Forget about it already," he told her. She smiled and pressed her toes into his chest. For a moment, Collins was tempted not to break the calm, happy mood she seemed to have adopted. It would be so easy to bring it up a little later…but then he saw the faded-but-present shadow of a bruise around Angel's eye and remembered the pain and hurt in her voice as she talked to him last night. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for however she might respond.

"Listen, baby…just a question, but what were you doing sleeping against the window?" he asked innocently. Angel's expression didn't change much, but he was sure he felt her stiffen slightly.

"I dunno…I just didn't make it to bed. You know how it is," she said dismissively, her eyes darting back to the tabloid (though, he noticed, they were not reading anything, but staring fixedly at the page as though trying to burn through it with laser vision).

"Really. Okay…but—and I'm not trying to pry or anything—you weren't wearing a jacket or sneakers when you got home yesterday. And this morning…I'm just wondering," Collins exclaimed when she glanced up at him again, all traces of smile gone. Her eyes were frighteningly hard, and for a moment Collins thought he saw a flicker of anger in them.

"Angel, I'm not going to tell you what to do or anything...baby, I'm on your side, you know I am," he said, trying to soothe her. He touched her ankle again, but it was so tense and stiff that it might have been molded from plastic. "I just…I'm worried about you. You got hurt yesterday, you were so damn angry. And what you told me about Cordero shows me that he's the kind of heartless bastard who'd hurt you as bad as he did and do it again without thinking. I love you too much to let you go out at night looking for someone like that—"

"But in the end, it's my decision what I do when and to whom, isn't it?" Angel said harshly, her voice rasping. Withdrawing her feet from his grip, she pulled them tightly against her chest. The irony struck Collins again: only last night, she'd cried as he held her feet in his lap, she had wept openly and vulnerably. But just now she'd had her feet in his lap again, only this time she was hard and dry, with no tears but those of anger. And those were not tears to shed, but tears to settle heavily in the stomach and only make someone angrier.

"It's not your job to protect me," she went on, her eyes glittering with diamond-hardness. "I've tried protecting people from Cordero and it doesn't work so well…" She laughed, a rasping sound that was in no way like Angel's true laugh. Collins felt a flicker of something that he had never believed possible for him to feel around Angel: fear.

"I'm not—"

"He's not hurting anyone else I love. And I'm not backing down this time," Angel said, her words chipped from ice. Getting up from the couch so suddenly that Collins jumped, Angel went over to the door and got her coat off the hook it had been placed on earlier. Putting it on, she turned to look at him.

"I love you," she said softly, and for a moment there was softness and true feeling in the brittle anger. Then it solidified again and Angel might have been a moving statue. "And that's why I won't let you stop me from doing this." And with that, she opened the door and disappeared through it.

Collins sat there on the couch, staring after her for a few moments. Then, moving as slowly as if he were in a dream, he got up and went over to the phone. Dialing just as slowly, Collins's eyes strayed vaguely to the bedroom doorway. For a moment, an enchantingly gorgeous drag queen, done up in snazzy Santa drag, seemed to shimmer between the sides of the frame.

"Mimi?" he said suddenly as the phone clicked on the other end. There was a gasp as Mimi recognized the voice.

"Collins! Oh my god, I've been trying to work up the courage to call you guys all day! Angel, she was here last night, and I'm afraid that she might—"

"Better stop being afraid," he said dully. "Because it's happened, she's gone to find him." There was silence. Then Mimi spoke in something close to a whisper.

"You…you let her?"

"I couldn't have stopped her if I'd tried. Mimi…I need your help. I don't think this is as simple as him giving Angel a message and her beating the crap out of him," Collins said, trying to keep the real fear out of his voice. He could almost hear Mimi nodding on the other end.

"I know, I think she wants to kill him, I really do—"

"No…I mean I think it's dangerous for her to find him. He's going to hurt her again…how, I don't know, but I'm not willing to risk Angel's life, especially not for a vendetta that's…I dunno, _controlling her_. Mimi, you need to come and help me find her," he said. Collins felt the alarm pulsing in his throat as he spoke, matching the rhythm of his pounding heart.

"Yeah…yeah, I'll get over there as soon as I can," Mimi said softly. There was a moment of silence, and then there was a click as she hung up. Collins closed his eyes for a second, then lowered the receiver back into its cradle.

It was only then that he realized he and Mimi had never said Cordero's name out loud.


	7. Meeting

**A/N: **I always get so happy when I update this chapter, because I feel less like a lazy bum (god knows I AM one, regardless of what I feel like). Anyways, this is a bit of a cliffie, and I'm sorry! But I don't hate how it turned out, which really is a plus. Anyways, school starts on Tuesday (le gasp!) so I'll be a bit busy. ut I'll do my best to update when I can!

Recent Favorite Quote:

"What are you going to do about Raven?"

"Oh, I'll let her sleep. I'll just take her pants and hold them hostage tomorrow morning until she agrees to buy me breakfast."--Questionable Content #496

* * *

_The streets were already past the twilight lull; they were teeming with activity now, the smoky, seductive side of New York beginning to crawl through the dark and into the open. Hookers flashed their wares at every corner, and every back alley held at least one dealer and his eager clientele. Men and women stood in small groups along the sidewalk, their voices low and threatening. Clubs and bars crawled with people. In the past, people shut their doors and windows for fear of spirits and ghosts. In these times, people bolt themselves into their houses for fear of spirits too; but modern spirits, dark and ugly and only as material as the weapons or drugs they carried. The streets were full of spirits tonight, all slithering up from what must be hell. _

_One young man slipped between shadows and huddles of people, his dark jacket and jeans blending into the hallows. His eyes were cold as stone and harder; they looked for only one, seeing no one else. People paid him no attention. They were like insects: only when you approached them did they sting. _

_He turned a corner onto a street flooded with yellowy streetlight. This was the boulevard of sinful pleasures; hookers peppered the sidewalks, covered in makeup and hairspray and the stench of easy pleasure. Their eyes followed the man as he briskly walked past them. He was alone and strange, without a gang or huddle of his own. One slim blonde tried to grab his arm, with a hiss of, "Lonely, sweetie pie?" But he brushed her off without turning his head and continued down the street. _

_Soon the hookers were gone, replaced by twice as many shadows. Here was where being alone was more than unadvisable; loners were easy targets for anyone with an urge to satisfy and the means to do so. Besides, you're easier to find when you're alone in this world of roaming packs. _

_Much easier. _

_Angel had hardly covered half the block before a fire escape clanged behind her. She whirled around—and saw the grinning face overhead, his broken nose and gleaming dark eyes hidden by the dark. With an agility that did not fit his thick form, Cordero swung down the wrought-iron bars and dropped to the ground a few yards behind Angel, leaning against a metal railing. Between two fingers was a lit cigarette. _

_"Knew I'd be seeing you again soon, faggie," he sneered in Spanish, taking a drag on the cigarette. _

* * *

"Did she say where she was going to look?" 

" Mimi, if I knew that we'd be gone already!" Collins growled, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. Mimi sighed and fingered the clip in her hair, dark brown eyes scanning the surrounding streets like roving beacons.

"I don't know…god, I knew when she showed up at my place something was seriously wrong. I just didn't—this is my fault, it has to be…" she said softly, shivering in the night cold. Collins shook his head and took her arm, pulling her down the street as he dodged around a tall Asian couple.

"It's not your fault, and saying it is isn't going to—ugh, fine, let's make it your fault," he said crossly as Mimi opened her mouth to argue. Closing it despondently, she glanced down a side street as they passed it.

"I mean, that just wasn't her. Not the Angel I know…I don't know where she's been for the last day or so, but I hope she's okay. This Angel is scary—"

"Mimi! Please just—stop _talking_," Collins exploded, avoiding her gaze. Mimi slowly closed her mouth, chewing on her lower lip. Her hands were clenched into fists, and she shoved them into her pockets. As if in response, Collins drew his own hands from his pockets and rubbed the back of his neck, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Mimi," he said softly after a moment. Mimi, conscious of the "stop talking" request, nodded. He opened his eyes and glanced at her; she nodded again. With a sigh, he let his hands drop to his sides. "I hope she's okay," he whispered. Mimi stepped closer and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

"Me too."

* * *

_"Took you long enough to come sniffing around, didn't it?" Cordero chuckled, still speaking in raspy Spanish. Angel glared at him, her eyes cutting paths of red through the cool night air. "Oh, I get it. Fairy-boy thinks he's too good to talk to me. He thinks I'm the one who's gotta do the talking…but you're forgetting something, fairy." _

_Suddenly, moving with that same unexpected agility as before, Cordero darted up to Angel and grabbed the front of her jacket, pulling her so close to him that his sour, cigarette smoke-laced breath played over her face. Angel stumbled from the force of his grip, her legs knocking into his. "You're forgetting that I'm still the winner," he hissed at her, wrenching her arm back with his free hand. "I beat you and your bastard brother and that little girl at everything…and I'll keep on beating you, no matter what you try." _

_Angel struck almost before the last words were out his mouth; her unrestrained fist sank into his exposed side with all the force she could muster. Cordero grunted with pain and released her, thrown backwards by the punch. Angel backpedaled, her face rigid with revulsion as she stared at the panting lump of filthy clothing that was the man she hated so much. He gazed back, one hand clamped to the ribs she had, at the least, bruised. Their breath swirled upwards as mist in the frosty night air, clouding each other from view. _

_"Keep your goddamn hands off me, you pig," Angel spat, her fists shaking as though itching to reconnect with Cordero's body. Cordero straightened with a pained growl, a mocking, ugly grin still stretched across his features. _

_"So you're really still sore about them…but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Just a like a fag to cry over a drug pusher and some kid. Bet you miss them, don't you?" Cordero asked with horrible faux-sympathy. His grin widened as he saw how Angel's hands began to shake harder. "Bet you wish me and my boys'd never laid a hand on them…especially that kid. Let me tell you, faggie, she was worth it. Squealed like all hell when we got rid of that motherfucker Miguel, but after…she just lay there and took it. The whole thing was worth it just to see her face when—" _

_"SHUT UP!" Angel shouted, her voice rebounding off buildings and tearing the night like a razor. Cordero grinned even wider when he heard the tears behind it. _

_"Same old fag," he whispered, taking a step towards Angel, who was shaking all over now. Her eyes were shining and she seemed almost dizzy with hate and grief. "Same as when you got up in my face about those two. You coulda just let it drop…but you made me drop it for you. Like I said, I have something to say to you…but maybe you want to finish something first. Maybe you want me to teach you about letting things drop again…or maybe you want me to give you something else to cry about. Like that slut from earlier…what'd do you think she'd look like after a few minutes with me?" _

_"You don't talk about her," Angel said suddenly, and now her voice was different. It might have been a corpse's…cold and hard and dead as dirt. "You don't talk or think about her, get it? About any of them, my sister and my brother…you don't exist compared to them. You don't exist past the scum on this street, because that's what you are. And without your drug buddies behind you, you don't even have other scum to back you up." _

_"Trying to have a spine, are we, faggie?" Cordero laughed. He was toying with her like a cat with a mouse, hitting her in the places where it hurt worst. Yet Angel was done being toyed with; the hatred and rage was ringing in her ears, and all thoughts of what Cordero had to say to her, what message he had come to deliver, fled from her mind as he spoke with words that scraped like razors across her ears. _

_"So you still think you'll get me back or something," he jeered, his broken nose wrinkling with crude amusement. "You want to—what is it, avenge them…well, that's okay. Because I don't care what you want; you're still the same little fairy-boy who's gonna cry if I carve someone up. Hey…how about that guy from yesterday, the one who got a little upset when I showed you who was boss? How'd he look with a blade in his neck?" _

_Cordero knew he struck home, but he didn't know just how deep his words had cut Angel. Every bone in her body wanted to kill him, wanted to kick him and punch him and tear at him until he was as bloody and lifeless as his victims. Every part of her was straining to attack…but she couldn't. She was literally frozen with hatred, as cold and hard as stone. Cordero's cruelty and enjoyment of the pain he caused her was like a drug that locked her muscles together. And now, with this last taunt about Collins, the last dose finished the job. Cordero began to move forward, his boots clomping on the pavement. And Angel just watched as he drew closer and closer, eyes gleaming like an animal's in the darkness. _

_"Let's talk, fag," he spat, and sunk his fist into Angel's stomach. _


End file.
